Remnants of Yesterday
by s.grand
Summary: She walked back home, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, trying not to think about how she had sold a part of her past just to bury a memory. D/Hr, oneshot.


_Remnants of Yesterday_**  
>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own any part of the _Harry Potter_ franchise. My life would be radically different if I did.

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><p>She could still remember the first time he had asked her to dance.<p>

She had thrown a party for Harry's birthday and he had stayed behind to help her clean up, if 'help' was the right word to use. Halfway through the cleaning process, he had become distracted by all the Muggle belongings she had around the apartment: a fire poker leaning against the brick lining of the fireplace, the frozen pictures of her parents that didn't move or wave or do anything but smile. What fascinated him the most was the old-fashioned turntable her grandfather had given to her on her sixteenth birthday.

She watched him, amused, while he tried to figure out how to make it work, tapping it with his wand until he gave up.

"Incredible," Draco said. "I can make a whole building disappear, but I can't figure out what this thing is supposed to do. What is this thing supposed to do, Granger?"

"It plays music," she replied, and then she showed him.

She only had one record, an old Springsteen album that was also a hand-me-down from her grandfather. She positioned the needle on the record and delighted in the look on Draco's face when it first began to spin, making soft, scratchy noises, and then burst into song.

They had stood there and listened to the music for a while. She'd waited for the mocking or the ridicule, waited for him to point out how very Muggle the lyrics were (after all, wizards could very easily "start a fire without a spark"), but it never came. Instead, he listened intently before striding to the light switch and turning off the light.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She could faintly see his silhouette making its way towards her. In the darkness, the noise from the record seemed louder than it had been before.

She had an electrical clock, the kind with the shiny red numbers that glowed in the dark. It illuminated his hand, stretched out towards her. "Dance with me?"

"What, now? With the lights off?"

"Well, yeah. Dancing in the dark, right? Isn't that what he's saying?"

It was sort of childish, but then again, he was sort of a child at that moment, seeing things he'd never seen before and doing things he'd never thought possible. She could think of a million reasons not to play along, but none of them really seemed to hold any magnitude. With the lights off, the red glow made everything take on a softer quality and his face looked both warm and welcoming. And so, with Springsteen as their soundtrack and leftover birthday cake still sitting on the coffee table, she took his hand and they had danced.

. . . . . .

She didn't think of Springsteen for a really long time. When their relationship collapsed, it was like she had buried him and the song – _their _song – somewhere deep in her memory, where most forgotten things go.

Years later, she got engaged to someone else. It made sense to move out of her apartment, so she began to pack up her stuff, separating her things into a pile of what she would keep and what she would either sell or give away. The oyster-shaped candy holder she bought while on vacation went into the sell pile; she decided to keep the crystal rose Ron had once given her on Valentine's Day; the frame with the caption '_Bet you wish you looked like this'_ she put into the sell pile after taking out the photo of a drunk Harry wearing a sombrero.

She had turned the radio on so there would be a soundtrack to her sorting, but now the music stopped and the broadcaster spoke in his annoyingly happy voice, saying he hoped they were all having a good day and how the next song was a request from the daily contest winner. A moment later, Springsteen's voice caught her off guard.

It wasn't 'Dancing in the Dark'. The coincidence of that would've been too much. But it was still odd to hear him at a time like this, when she was packing up her things to go start her new life with someone else.

After she and Draco had broken up, she had shoved the turntable in a place where she would never accidentally stumble upon it, thinking it reminded her of him too much. Now, she walked to her closet, pulling out pillows and blankets and discarded shoes before her fingers met with its familiar wooden edge. She pulled it out, wiping off the layer of dust that had gathered on it.

He had taken the record with him, the only record she'd ever had. She hadn't cared until right now, at the brink of the beginning of her life with someone else. She picked up the record player and, after a moment of hesitation, walked into the living room and set it down next to the pile of things she decided to keep.

. . . . . .

"I still don't understand why we're here," Ginny said, kicking a pebble near her shoe. It landed in the small mound of snow that someone had shoveled off the sidewalk. She paused, squinting slightly, and nodded. "Yep, my toes just went numb. Is this thing really that important?"

They were standing outside Draco's apartment, the one he had moved into after moving out of the Malfoy manor. Hermione craned her neck to see if he was home, but none of the lights in his apartment were on. It was snowing lightly, small snowflakes landing on the her eyelashes. She wiped them away impatiently.

"I don't understand why he never thought about giving it back," Hermione said before she stepped forward and rang the buzzer.

"Maybe because you didn't want it back until now." Ginny shifted from one foot to the other. "Warm me up, will you?"

"He might not be home," Hermione said absentmindedly, before taking out her wand and casting a heating hex on Ginny. She stepped back again to look at the windows. The lights were still off. She frowned. "I didn't ask for the record back because I forgot he had it. It didn't matter then."

"So why does it matter now?"

"Because…" she said, and then her voice trailed off. It was frustrating for her, she who always had all the answers, to be unable to answer this one question. _Because I'm getting married_, was the answer that came to mind, but she couldn't say it aloud. Getting married and getting the record back were mutually exclusive. Why her mind was grouping them together was something she had yet to understand. "Because it was a gift from my grandfather."

"It was a gift from your grandfather six months ago, too. I don't understand why this matters now."

_Neither do I_. She stepped forward and rang the buzzer again. This time, the door opened with a click. Hermione held it open with one hand, looking down the hallway that led to the elevator, until Ginny gave her a small push.

"Go on," Ginny said. "I'll wait here."

. . . . . .

Harry and Ginny had always had one of those on-again, off-again relationships, the type that seemed to give birth to conflict no matter what the situation was. It was the sort of thing Draco started making fun of them for, once he realized it was a regular occurrence. Every time they broke up and Ginny came over with a batch of cupcakes and donut holes, Draco would laugh and say, "How long do you guys plan on staying apart this time? Five minutes?"

Their relationship was only consistent in its inconsistency, but somewhere in that, Hermione managed to find some sense of comfort. Harry and Ginny would always end up going back to each other. Their love was always strong enough to bring them together again.

When they got married, though, Hermione assumed they had put their volatile ways behind them. Until ten months later, when they broke the news that they'd be divorcing.

"But why?" Hermione had wanted to know. She had gone over to their house and asked Harry over and over again. When he failed to give an answer, she had moved on to Ginny. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Ginny had answered. Far off, almost muted, there were noises coming from the bedroom that reminded them they weren't alone – Harry was packing up his stuff. Every crinkle of wrapping paper simply reminded Hermione how final their decision was. "It just wasn't working. I didn't want to end up hating him."

"Is that even possible?" Hermione asked. Ginny didn't look up, stirring the cup of coffee she held in her hands. "How can you hate someone you're in love with?"

"Love and hate are on the opposite sides of the same coin," she'd replied. "They're both extreme emotions. I think it's actually pretty easy to flip from one side to the other." Then she sighed and put her coffee down on the kitchen counter. Sounds of peeling duct tape were coming now. "Look, it's for the best. We were hurting each other a lot."

"But…you love each other." Hermione held her own coffee mug tightly in her hands. "Why would you hurt someone you're in love with?"

"I don't think we meant to do it, but we did." Ginny gave Hermione a sad smile. "We just couldn't work through our problems. I still love him, though. That hasn't changed. You hurt the people you love sometimes, but it doesn't mean you love them any less."

. . . . . .

Draco didn't look surprised to see her. In fact, he looked more like he had been expecting her, skipping a greeting but holding the front door open, gesturing for her to come inside.

She stopped in the center of his living room, looking around. She hadn't been there in almost two years, but it was still exactly the same: the only furniture in the room was a large plush couch and the floor and walls were bare except for a painting that mimicked the landscape outside. At the moment, snowflakes were drifting from one side of the canvas to the other, while the trees in the background were dusted with white.

He asked her if she wanted anything from the kitchen, and even though she said no, he ended up bringing her a glass of water. She sat down on the couch and held the glass cupped in her hands.

"So…" He didn't sit down. Like his home, he hadn't changed much, either. His hair was shorter than it used to be and he was a little less clean-shaven, but other than that, he was the same way she remembered him. He was staring pointedly at her engagement ring. "I guess congratulations are in order?"

"Yeah," she said. She played with the ring, moving it from side to side. "I didn't know whether to send an invitation or not. I didn't want to be rude, but I thought it would be weird–"

"You don't have to explain." His gaze moved towards the painting, watching a snowflake until it disappeared. "I wouldn't know what to do with an invite if I got one." He paused and looked at her again. "Is that why you're here? To apologize for not inviting me to your wedding?"

She shook her head. "I was packing up my stuff the other day and I found the turntable." He gave her a blank look. "The record player from my grandfather, and…well, I only ever had one record…"

"The Springsteen one," he finished for her.

She nodded. She waited for him to say he'd get it for her, waited for him to fill in the gap, but he simply stood there, watching the painting once again. When he finally spoke up, it was to ask her the question she still wasn't prepared for. "Why do you want it back?"

"Because…" The answer came back to her, and she didn't stop it this time. "Because I'm getting married."

"So?"

"So I need to have it back."

To her surprise, his mouth quirked upwards into one of his trademark smirks. "That doesn't answer my question. So you're getting married. What does that have to do with getting the record back?"

His hands were in his pockets. She wondered if they still looked the same, if they still felt the same. She could remember the feel of his hands pressed against her back, leading her across the room while Springsteen sang his song. Somewhere deep down, she knew that as long as he had the record, a part of their relationship would be kept alive. That they could be brought together again as long as she had the record player and he had the record.

She had no idea how to explain it to him, but he didn't wait for her to try. He left her sitting in the living room and walked into the kitchen. After a few minutes, she followed him.

He was washing a dish in the sink. She stood in the doorway until he turned to face her, wringing his hands in a towel.

"If the record is the only reason you're here, you can go," he said. His voice was perfectly neutral, neither hostile nor upset.

"What?" She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm keeping it. You didn't want it back before. I don't see why I should care now."

"Because you never cared about what I wanted, and I thought you might want this chance to make me happy for once. You know," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "A shot at redemption." He looked unimpressed. "I want it back, Draco. You can't even use it."

He leaned back against the sink, still playing with the towel. "Like you're actually going to go home now and listen to Springsteen."

"Maybe I will," she said.

"You won't." He sounded so sure of his answer that it annoyed her even more. "I'd say we're both going to get equal amounts of use out of it, which is nothing."

"Then what difference does it make to you? Give it back. It's not even yours."

He didn't bother arguing with her. He simply smiled. Hermione felt the tip of her index finger twitch, as if it were trying to say something her lips couldn't. She looked at him and wondered why this couldn't be easier.

They stayed in silence for a while. He had an old-fashioned clock near the stove, the type that ticked as loud as possible. She listened to the ticking, counting each one that went by.

"So," he said finally. "Want some coffee?"

. . . . . .

In the end, she left without getting the record back. She'd told him to either give it back or stop wasting her time. As a response, he'd held the door open.

She wasn't angry when he shut the door behind her. She wasn't upset, either. She felt this odd sort of emptiness, as if her heart no longer cared enough on this matter to bother producing some sort of emotion.

Ginny didn't ask any questions when Hermione emerged empty-handed. When Hermione set off down the street at a brisk pace, she didn't even ask why they were walking back as opposed to Disapparating. She stayed quiet, until, right at the foot of Hermione's doorstep, she said, "You can't blame him for holding onto the only part of you he has left."

. . . . . .

A year after their divorce, Harry and Ginny told everyone that, once again, they were giving married life another shot.

"Are they crazy?" Hermione had asked Draco.

"Aren't we all?"

She had rolled her eyes at him, but she was grinning. "I'm serious. Is this really the smart thing to do? Giving each other a second chance?"

"Yeah. Why not? They were married once, it didn't work out…now they're trying again." They were sitting in a small café, on opposite sides of a booth, the smell of coffee and toasted bagels hanging in the air. The deep burgundy color of the cushions clashed with Draco's sheer blond hair. "Sometimes you don't get a second chance, and that's ok. That's just life. Other times, you do get a second chance, and then you have to decide whether or not you want it. A shot at redemption."

"Wouldn't everyone want to redeem themselves?"

"Not really. Doing the right thing is hardly ever the easy thing to do. Most of the time, it means you have to make some sort of sacrifice to make someone else happy. But, well…" He looked at her and smiled. "If you care about someone that much, then you'll do it. Because then it's worth it."

. . . . . .

A week later, she decided to sell the turntable.

It felt both sad and oddly liberating. She was sorry she had to get rid of the only gift she had from her grandfather, but she had no use of it anymore. She could buy some new records, maybe, but in the end, she simply decided to let someone else get some use out of it.

Harry accompanied her to a pawn shop near her house. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her over and over again. "This isn't one of those crazy, split-second decisions, is it? I don't think you've thought this through."

"I haven't," she said. "But it's just something I need to do."

She did end up regretting it, two days later. She went back to the pawn shop to buy it back, but the guy behind the counter told her they sold it already. She walked back home, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, trying not to think about how she had sold a part of her past just to bury a memory.

. . . . . .

When she least expected it, she had a visitor.

"Don't look so surprised to see me," Draco said when she opened the front door to find him there. She had ordered Chinese food from a small take-out place nearby; when the buzzer rang, she thought her food had arrived.

He was holding something large and oddly proportioned in his arms, but it took her a few seconds to fully understand that it was her grandfather's record player. A strange noise of surprise came from deep in her throat, and she shook her head. "But– how did you–"

"Harry told me," he said, making his way inside and setting the record player on her table. "I knew you'd want it back eventually."

Her floor was lined with cardboard boxes and the last few things she still hadn't packed. He stepped around them, coming to stand in front of her. He was still holding one more thing, a large but thin envelope with her name written on the front.

She wanted to say something, to find the right words to tell him how glad she was to have the record player back, how devastated she had been when she thought she'd lost it, but he waved it away when she tried. "You don't have to say anything." He handed her the package, telling her to open it once he left. And just like that, he was gone.

A question wriggled around in the corner of her mind. She thought about ignoring it, but she realized that she might not see him anytime soon, if ever, and she needed to know the answer. She caught him just as he was heading towards the staircase. "Why did you do all this?"

He stopped at the foot of the stairs. She watched the slight movement of his shirt while she waited for an answer. He didn't turn around – he looked straight ahead of him, at the blank walls in front of him. The paint was old and flaky, one of the things the tenants were constantly nagging the landlord about. "You said I never cared. I wanted to show you that I did. That I do. You know," he turned his head a bit so she could see his face and the faintest hint of a smile. "Redemption."

She had already guessed what would be inside the package, but it didn't dull the multitude of feelings she got when she was greeted with the familiar disk-shape of the Springsteen record. She was happy and grateful and felt like she had finally finished reading a book, that she could finally turn the last page and shut it closed, that she could move on to a different story. She lifted out the record and gently removed a small sticky note on the cover.

_If you ever decide to dance to this again_, Draco had written on it, _just remember to turn out the lights_.

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><p><strong>AN: **Inspiration comes in the weirdest ways – this was born after a friend of mine went through a breakup and I wanted to show her that sometimes relationships fall apart and that it's not always a bad thing (some people, like Draco and Hermione, are supposed to let go and move on, and others, like Harry and Ginny, just haven't learned how to make things work). I'm hoping someone will at least enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think!


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